


Lightning Flowers

by withinmelove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Fox Stiles, M/M, Marking, Nogitsune, Scent Marking, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is terrified of his mind unraveling in the wake of taking the Nogitsune's power. Peter in his usual fashion slithers in close and becomes his anchor. Maybe creeper wolf does have his uses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Teen Wolf Harvest! 
> 
> This is Stiles' lightning flower on his chest (just scale it down a small bit) http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lkuah3nbZJ1qgxv6i.jpg

There is a change to Stiles after the Nogitsune. 

The most obvious is the way he moves. There’s no more falling over his own feet or constant fumbling not to drop whatever he’s holding at the moment. Odd though his lack of clumsiness may be the biggest change is to Stiles’ eyes. It’s something in the way his gaze has turned from curiosity to calculation. The Pack sees these traces as well and are disturbed by these new differences. They are afraid of the idea that the Nogitsune has left indelible marks within the boy. All of them want to deny the existence of Stiles’ darkness, of the Nogitsune, but poor little Allison six feet under prevents any of their blind denial, as well as the oh-so-sweet plaque inside the school’s front doors. 

Peter wonders if it’s the educational system’s way of tallying the number of kids who have died before leaving their doors. Even as a teen he had always thought it morbid, the well preserved memorials of deceased pupils. No other students would remember who they even were after four years had passed. The dead were just empty letters of a name.

\---

The other discovery that stands out sharply to Peter is that Stiles is touch starved - but oh, how carefully he keeps it held within. Stiles’ lack isn’t helped by the fact that none of the Pack consciously thinks to show affection him anymore. Their instincts turn them away from the fox in their midst and they do not question it. This doesn’t surprise Peter in the least, of course they would not challenge their inner wolf. The Pack are creatures of habit and hierarchy there is no reason to believe they would deviate. It is their human side that shies away from the change that ripples across Stiles’ face at odd moments, disturbed waters never to be peaceful again. 

For Peter himself though, there has always been beauty in that moon-pale face even before it was controlled by the spirit moving Stiles’ limbs and mouth. The Nogitsune has not diminished Stiles in the least, rather it makes Peter desire the boy all the more for the sharp, cruel side that's come to light. A kindred spirit in his near insanity. 

\---

It’s a school day when Peter decides to visit Stiles, to see how he’s getting along. Stiles has a free period at this point and here he is out dozing by the track. Peter is a strong believer in knowing where the Pack is at all times, seeing as his nephew can no more keep track of them than he can his own life. A lucky guess and the boy’s scent confirms his location.

“Quite alone aren’t you?” Peter asks looking down at the sprawled out teenager. Such a collection of long legs and arms like a spider he muses. Stiles for his part doesn’t even bother to shift his hood from over his eyes or move from his position. Such a difference from a year ago, when he would have been on his feet, babbling a mile a minute, trying and failing to hide his spooked unease. Now he is so unconcerned that he doesn’t even care to open his eyes. 

“Not with you here,” comes the response, “What do you want anyways?” 

Peter doesn’t reply to the question, instead settling onto his back next to Stiles. This gets him a confused look but again he chooses not to say anything, preferring to watch the clouds go by. They both could do with some silence. After almost a minute he can feel Stiles’ eyes slide off of him before the boy turns his face up towards the sky as well.

The time passes peacefully; neither of them talking but Peter knows that his company is welcome, seeing as Stiles doesn’t leave even when it’s clear that Peter is not going to. So he starts to make a habit of dropping by the high school track, once or twice a week. Sometimes Stiles is there dozing, or reading, or eating a snack. Other times he’s in the library researching, as always, supernatural lore. On those days Stiles texts him random and often grotesque facts of the creatures he looks up. 

They continue their quiet time together, nodding hello and goodbye. It becomes a pleasant diversion for his empty days. After all, when one isn’t planning revenge or how to come back from the dead he finds there isn’t much to do. 

\--

The rumble of Derek’s train car door makes Peter opens his eyes from his place dozing on the couch to watch as it rolls aside, Stiles appearing from behind it with Scott and Kira at his heels.  
“Hey Derek.” Scott grins. The kid is too damn sunshine-and-rainbows for Peter to stand most - or any - of the time. His nephew glances up from the book he is reading to nod at Scott, mouth tightening when he catches sight of Stiles before he nods again. 

It would take someone blind not see Derek’s behavior for what it is. He is wary - his instincts make him so, after the last time Stiles was close to him. However, Peter wishes he would tone it down, his defensive act is bordering on ridiculous. In spite of this treatment Stiles gives a tight smile, though it vanishes the instant Derek turns his eyes back to Scott. The boy looks to Peter in the next moment, taking in his lounging position on the couch.

“Hard being the bad guy isn’t it?” Peter can’t resist asking, hands settled on his stomach, unconcerned if the others hear. For a fleeting second Stiles’ mouth pulls into that familiar shape of smug amusement before he turns away to investigate the kitchen’s contents.

Nogitsune or not Stiles is still a seventeen-year-old boy with an endless appetite. Derek’s cupboards aren’t stocked for that. They aren’t stocked to feed a fully-grown man either. Really, Peter has tried to tell his nephew that if he’s so adamant on having Pack meetings here he needs to feed his pups, but of course he doesn’t listen. So if Peter is more than a little smug to see Stiles reappear with two of his homemade chicken paninis...well, who can blame him?

“Scott, you’ve gotta try these paninis they’re amazing!” Stiles exclaims as he offers the second one he’s holding out to his friend. Peter manages to hold himself back until both Scott and Kira have taken a bite, looks of surprised agreement of their faces, before he answers.

“Why thank you Stiles, Derek here said none of you would eat my food.” On cue, Scott looks horrified, Kira bewildered, Derek irritated, and Stiles - well Stiles has taken another big bite of his panini.

“Shut up Peter.” Derek mutters the words making the smile slipping off of Stiles’ face. If he didn’t know any better Peter would say Stiles is bothered by Derek’s sharp tone towards him. He tells himself he isn’t pleased at the thought of Stiles being offended on Peter’s behalf. “Scott, the sandwiches are fine. I told him that because none of us like or trust him.” Peter puts a hand over his heart.

“You needn’t be so cruel Derek; besides why would I kill any of your pack? They manage to find themselves dead without my help.” The jab is excessively cruel, but he’s been itching for a fight more and more these days watching Stiles’ imposed isolation at the hands of the Pack. He’s on his feet in an instant to meet his lunging nephew - but Stiles is there between them, shoving Derek aside like a ragdoll.

The shock on all three of Scott’s, Kira’s and Derek’s faces is priceless. Stiles is too busy glaring at Peter and making sure no one else flings themselves at him to be concerned about letting slip what was very apparently a secret.

“Stiles...how - how did you do that? You’re not supposed to be possessed anymore.” Kira stutters from behind Scott who has stepped in front of her - such a loyal dog. “The fly was trapped in the container right?” she asks, looking to Scott for reassurance.

Stiles looks wearied by the mere question; his hands falling to his sides.

“I took the Nogitsune’s power before he separated from me. That’s why he was talking about us trying to beat him at his own game. I took everything from him Scott...I left him a shell.” Scott’s eyes and mouth hang open, quite the simpleton expression.

“So that’s why the not-real you cracked and turned into dust?” Stiles nods, mouth tight though his gaze never wavers from his friend. Peter can’t help but be impressed at this new information. Stiles is more foxlike than he knew, to have stolen power in the last instance like that. 

“We need to go to Deaton.” Derek speaks up, and _really_ , his nephew has no understanding of how much of a gift this is. Scott and Kira nod in agreement, and he’d be damned if that isn’t a flicker of resentment on Stiles’ face at their ready acceptance, but a moment later a resigned look comes to the boy’s eyes. No doubt he’s been carrying guilt for the pain and terror the Nogitsune has caused, for his mind not being the blinding empty white of Scott’s.

“Are you all stupid?” he snaps, causing the predictable frowns and squints. Really, he needs to be paid for putting up with this lot. “Stiles is one of us now - this is an advantage in both strength and allies. No one but an idiot would challenge a Nogitsune.” Scott and Kira wear thoughtful expressions as they turn over this idea, while Stiles looks at him with puzzlement. No matter, Stiles will come around soon enough, and there will be time for thanks later once Peter’s sorted out this mess. 

“But Stiles couldn’t control the Nogitsune before, why should he be able to now that he has its power? And why are you so interested in this anyways?” Derek argues, and the urge has never been so strong to punch him before as it is now.

Peter runs his hand down his face. It never ceases to amaze him how stubborn Derek can be. 

“We need allies Derek! We’re weak and Stiles is our chance to have a semblance of a strong Pack. As much of a surprise as it might be I don’t want to die for a third time.” The puzzlement is gone in the face of Peter’s answer in its place is a look of concentration like Stiles is struggling to solve a difficult math problem. 

“We don’t know if it will take him again!” Derek exclaims voice rising with his temper. Before anyone can answer Scott speaks.

“Derek’s right, we don’t know.” This snaps Stiles out of his thoughts, bug-eyed at Scott’s words, mouth parted in shock. 

“Scott - you’d - you don’t trust me?” Scott looks away, hand rubbing his neck, too shamefaced to look Stiles in the eyes.

“Not you, but after…” He swallows his words but the huntress’s name hangs unspoken among them. It seems this is what breaks Stiles’ defiance for his shoulders slump, eyes downcast. 

“Fine. Let’s go.” He will not look at Peter and Peter does not move to follow them. He will not encourage Stiles’ victim mentality.

\--

For Stiles the preserve has become a safe haven during the nights he can’t sleep. At first it stemmed from the fact that only so much TV, internet, panic attacks and being lost in thought could get him through the endless hours. At least he knows now that panic attacks are self-limiting. How he used to hate that there were too few hours in the day to accomplish tasks, be it homework or frantically trying to find a cure for fairy venom. Derek had made many manly faces of stoic pain during the entire time. Now though...now the _seconds_ can’t crawl by fast enough.

So one night he gives up trying to be restless in his room (his dad has caught him wandering the house too often by now), instead unfurling his rope ladder down his window and striking out for nowhere in particular.

The night air is chilled, soothing on his aching sandpaper eyes, slowing the fevered whirr of his brain. Really he could sleep out in a ditch better than in his own bed. For a moment the thought flits through his mind that he could turn home, get a blanket, and do exactly that but his feet have no desire to go back to his confining room. Besides, Stiles is enjoying the absence of human voices. Just the bugs, his footsteps, and the sound of his breathing. Everyone wants to help, to offer advice, to stay the hell away from him - here, no one can do any of that.

“Really Stiles, I’d have thought you had enough of the night not to be walking around in it,” says Peter’s voice from beside him. Stiles can’t help the sarcastic snort at that. From his peripheral view he sees the small smile on Peter’s face as he pushes his hands into his jean pockets. For reasons he is not going to examine at these early hours, Stiles finds he doesn’t mind the particular company of Peter right at this moment. If he’s truthful he hasn’t minded for the past few weeks, not even when the werewolf started showing up regularly at his school during his free block. It helps that at school at least he keeps his mouth shut. He wonders if the Pack is so worried about the Nogitsune’s power that they’ve sent Peter to look over him.

“Guarding me now?” The snipe slips out. The sound of the other man chuckling makes Stiles squint suspiciously. “Okay, laughing like that doesn’t make a guy feel safe.” Peter tilts his head, eyebrows raised as if he is being dense on purpose.

“Stiles, you don’t need anyone to guard you, least of all me.” Stiles looks away, rubbing at his eyes. He knows what Peter isn’t saying. Thankfully the older man doesn’t press, instead choosing to lapse into silence. It isn’t until they reached the preserve that he speaks again.

“Stiles.” He looks at the werewolf who has gone still, eyes roaming over the forest in front of them, before turning his gaze onto him. It feels like he’s pinned beneath the weight of the seriousness in Peter’s expression. “You have a choice in all of this, no matter what you think. Don’t let yourself be held back.” A shake of the head from Peter and now his mouth is too full of wolf teeth to talk anymore, the crest forming over his eyes that gleam a brilliant sky blue. One last growl, then he is bounding off into the treeline, leaving an odd hollow feeling in Stiles’ chest. Leaves him wondering what it would be like to slip so naturally into another form. 

His chest feels too tight and Stiles has to remind himself to breathe. It feels like his blood has been electrified from seeing Peter’s transformation. Stiles does his best to shove it aside. Even though he knows he didn’t take Nogi in when he took the spirit’s power, the current of something _more_ courses through him making him uneasy. If he allows the full force of what he took in to wash over he would lose himself inside of it completely, he would cease to be Stiles. 

The thought blossoms that for all of Peter’s nonchalance and lack of remorse, Stiles wonders if he too lost himself in his revenge. If it had succeeded in wiping out his sense of self, just as the Nogitsune’s restless power threatened to do to him, until death had cleansed Peter.

The night walks become routine as well and Stiles knows that now would logically be the time when he should be suspicious of Peter’s motives. What’s the possible gain for him, what angle is he trying to work being so friendly? Stiles knows he should be more wary of Peter but he finds he can’t sum up too much suspicion right now. Not when Peter treats him like a person and not a dangerous Nogitsune. Most of all, he touches him. That should have him on even more red alert but it feels so good to be treated normally. Besides, the touching is never inappropriate or invasive, much to Stiles’ surprise. Rather the feel of Peter’s hand on his shoulder or back is grounding. Then again he supposes the upsweep in physical contact isn’t much of a surprise. He’s never had an issue with being touchy with others certainly not with Scott or his Dad, even Derek despite the many irritated threats to his person. He supposes it slipped past his notice that he has started including Peter into the “hands-on” group people of his life. 

Soon the nightly strolls become their new time together. The werewolf does not say why but Stiles knows that it’s because Derek and the others have begun to needle Peter about his constant presence around him. Admittedly Stiles is not bothered by this switch from day to night. It helps keep the anxiety that claws at his chest during the evening hours away when he is out walking the quiet roads out of town and the twisting paths through the preserve with Peter. And maybe if he stumbles a bit more then usual grabbing onto Peter for balance well it’s pitch dark out how’s he supposed to see the tree roots?

It’s out beneath the stars, when they’ve taken a break to lay down, that he confesses to Peter these thoughts, relieves the cancer inside speaking it all aloud.

“I was _glad_ Peter, glad that - when Allison...died. It didn’t mean anything to me but victory.” Peter does not speak and Stiles can’t bring himself to turn his head to look over at his expression. Instead he chooses to stare up at the sky watching the clouds roam past, covering and uncovering the moon in turns. It makes him jump when Peter’s hand covers his. Stiles doesn’t move away but soaks up the feeling of his touch instead.

“I…” His voice fails him and he swallows the butterflies punching his chest from the inside out. “More than that I was - I’m - terrified of losing control. At this point it isn’t even about killing people, it’s the fact that I wouldn’t have my _mind_ anymore. I wouldn’t know what reality was anymore. I didn’t for awhile,” he whispers.

A gentle squeeze before Peter’s thumb is stroking the back of his hand. He doesn’t think before he removes his hand from Peter’s to roll over into his side instead, arm over Peter’s chest, silent and resolute in his clinging. For his part the older man doesn’t seem bothered by this sudden attack of teenage boy; he simply moves his arm from between them hand to settle in Stiles’ hair. He could purr from the tingles down his spine at the petting. He’s missed this kind of contentment and affection; it’s been too long. 

\--

Peter hears Stiles’ sharp inhale, and catches the pervasive scent of pain as he is sliding in the boy’s window. He furrows his brow at the sight of Stiles hunched in on himself, sweatpants pushed down to his thighs. Not that he’s opposed to voyeurism, but there isn’t even a hint of arousal, fresh or faded, around Stiles.

What does shock even him is seeing Stiles’ left thigh encased by inflamed lightning flowers. The boy looks over at him as he lays the injection gun he was holding out of sight down beside his hip. The too familiar exhausted smile comes to his eyes, his mouth as if Peter has caught him doing something naughty.

“Not quite what you thought I was doing, hm?” Peter shrugs as he watches Stiles stand and pull his sweatpants back up. He notices as the boy does so that his right thigh bears the exact same markings. It wouldn’t do to show concern though not from him.

“I have to say Stiles, I never expected you to turn to drugs but follow in your father’s footsteps.” More then anyone he knows he has burned too many bridges to show his true feelings not without getting suspicion in return. Despite what the others thought, he has not always been this sharp tongued man they know him as. Without a doubt he had been a sly, mischievous child and teenager given to the impulse of occasional cruelty, but never without purpose. No one but Stiles had appreciated that. 

The boy snorts as he rolls his eyes and _this_ is most curious of all. Not even a death glare from him for bringing that little piece of the past up. Never before has Stiles turned down the chance to snipe back.

“Yeah well, I’m sure you didn’t expect a lot of things and this -” Here he lightly shakes the injector gun, “- isn’t drugs it’s letharia vulpina, liquid form. Keeps me from using Nogi’s power and not doing another Peter murder spree.”

Ah, there is the Stiles he knows.

\--

Peter nearly drives his hands through the swinging doors of Deaton’s examination room as he shoves them aside. Derek looks over at him; Deaton too focused on Stiles’ limp form to bother with seeing who has come in.

“ _What happened to him_?” Peter snarls and knows without a doubt the blue is burning in his eyes. Derek presses his lips together as if he would be so petty as to withhold information from Peter. He who had tried to defend Stiles, who had wanted to encourage him to explore his new abilities. 

“He overdosed.” Deaton’s voice states cool and factual. The sneer that has become such an old friend pulls at Peter’s lips. Just like a Druid; so obsessed with the idea of balance they themselves are leeched of concern towards any creature, human or supernatural.

“And just how did he overdose?” He’s so tense his jaw is beginning to ache spurring his slipping grasp of his temper. It hasn’t been since he tore apart Beacon Hills revenging his family that he has struggled with holding onto his emotions like this.

“He said he wanted to learn how to do it himself, that it would be easier - his words not mine.”  
Peter’s fists clench, Derek’s wary eyes on him, ready to stop any reckless actions. 

“You didn’t think to _watch_ him?” he ground out. Deaton looks over at him, eyebrows raised, face dispassionate as usual.

“Stiles said he could handle it, I trusted he would be careful.” The urge to rip and tear is growing; Derek is shifting his stance, seeing his claws have slipped out. No, he can’t lose control - he wants to stay here, close, and keep his eyes on Stiles since no one else seems to care enough to do so.

“Will he make it?” Derek speaks up for the first time. Deaton blinks before he shrugs, “It’s hard to say right at this moment. His body still isn’t used to the herb so even the little extra he gave himself might be too much.” Peter moves at once to Stiles’ side. It is not an accident in the least if the boy has given himself more than what Deaton does. Stiles is too sharp not to keep track of just how much he is injected with daily. The color drains out of his face, it feels like out of his entire body, when he sees for himself just where Stiles’ had put the needle.

Mauve lightning flowers spray out from the boy’s left pectoral, the fingers of its dendrites reaching down to his belly button and upwards towards his collarbone. No…no this was no accident on Stiles’ part; they are fools if they believe that.

When his boy opens his eyes hours later, Peter has his hand over his lightning flower pretending to absorb the pain, not that there is any, it is just his thin excuse to lay hands on him.

“Why?” Peter demands giving Stiles no time to lie to him and for his part Stiles does not try. He blinks up at Peter, exhausted and disappointed.

“I could still feel Nogi’s power. I thought if I came close to death again, I could make it go away -” he swallows, “- but it’s still there.”

Peter isn’t sure if he wants to shake Stiles into unconsciousness again or not.

“What gave you the idea that that would work Stiles?” His voice has gone the type of quiet that is seething beneath its gentleness. The little bastard does not seem in the least apologetic for his near-successful suicidal attempt to rid himself of power.

“We had to die to give the Nemeton power, so why wouldn’t it work backwards as well? Die again to release it.” Peter closes his eyes, practices his deep breathing and reminds himself that he can’t put his claws into Stiles. How did his boy manage to be so stupid?

“Stiles you took the Nogitsune’s _power_. You aren’t returning clothes, there is no giving back.” Stiles swallows, Peter can hear how his heart begins to beat faster at the words. “I can help you, in a way Derek and Scott can’t. Who better to help you, teach you to keep your mind together then me?”

Stiles shakes his head - he isn’t ready yet to accept what he is, the powerful creature he could become. It’s funny, the boy isn’t even concerned about the fact that he can no longer be defined as strictly human, it is his locked away terror that keeps him from accessing his power and abilities. 

So Peter lets it rest. He doesn’t push Stiles for anymore or to stop injecting though he makes a point to be close by him when he does it. He may not be within sight but Peter will ensure this time another overdose doesn’t happen. It is not only for that that he stays close. Stiles has no more pack. No matter what Scott says, Peter sees that he cannot accept Stiles, not when the others fear him. Scott has always been too suggestible. Stiles is Peter’s now. Peter may not be known for being warm and gentle but he knows what the power of physical affection can do. He is a werewolf first and foremost.

At a pack meeting one evening he attempts to scent mark Stiles. It’s when the boy is engrossed in scanning over some printed out pages with Lydia over bowtruckles, some magical creature from Harry Potter. On the pretense of leaning over the back of the couch and Stiles’ shoulder to better read what Lydia held -

“Stiles!” Werewolf reflexes kept him from being hit in the face with Stiles’ head when he startles and looks at Derek, confused by the random outburst. Peter also drags his eyes to his nephew to find he was wearing his displeased pinched mouth look. Quite the art to differentiate between the variation of Derek’s mouth, expressions minimal as they are. Derek’s eyes flick daggers at Peter who returns it with a smarmy smile that he knows infuriates his nephew. Really, he is too easy.

“Peter was going to scent mark you if you hadn’t noticed.” Stiles leans his head back as he looks up at him, eyebrows raised.

“Do I not smell wolfy enough yet for you creeper?” The familiar smirk comes to Peter without thought as he responds with, “Too much like a fox.” The sudden tension in the others is a taut wire though Stiles seemed unaffected in the least by his jibe. A knowing gleam comes to Stiles’ eye as he smirks before he looks back to the papers, now slightly crumpled in Lydia’s tight grasp.

Sharp as he is, it doesn’t take long for him to know the cause is his presence.

\--

For once in way too long that Stiles doesn’t want to guess at, he and Scott are relaxing at his place with the addition of Isaac. Really Isaac isn’t too bad once he gets to playing video games. He’s even decent enough not to crow like Scott when the creatures in Diablo 3 kill Stiles.

Stiles’ more than certain Scott picked his character of Demon Hunter because it’s a reminder of Allison. Isaac picks Crusader and Stiles himself chooses Wizard. He hopes they don’t read as deeply into their chosen character as he is doing.

Two peaceful hours pass, no frantic calls, no caps locked texts, no Derek making pinched mouth expressions of impatience at them for goofing off like this. Just killing imaginary creatures and doing their quests. Three large pizzas later Stiles is feeling sated and drowsy. Scott and Isaac are of course feeling no such effects, stupid werewolf metabolism.

“You guys keep playing, I’m gonna think with my eyes closed.” Stiles mumbles as he sinks further down into the bean bag. Scott laughs and ruffles his hair before he turns attention back to the TV. Today is perfect. 

When Stiles wakes up he’s got a slight crick in his neck and his friends have settled on the couch to watch cartoons but he remains sprawled in his beanbag watching them. It isn’t often he gets to see them being wolf-like towards each other. Isaac is idly playing with Scott’s hair and it isn’t until he stops for a moment to scratch his eyebrow when Scott whines softly in his throat that Stiles realizes, his heart squeezing painfully, that he could _hear_ that. He’s not heard Scott make a noise like that before, in fact he’s never heard any of the werewolves’ noises to each other. Such as the soft answering rumble from Isaac that his human ears shouldn’t be able to pick up. 

The rest of the week Stiles is more aware of his senses than he has been since the Nogitsune started messing with his reality. Next to pop up once he’s paying attention is his sense of smell and it is both a small gift and gross curse. Never before now has he fully appreciated his human nose until he goes into the locker room to change for lacrosse. And unlike Scott, he Stiles does not get super amazing agility or skills with the game. Still a bench warmer, but he has to admit he didn’t expect a change with that anyways. Throughout his testing he says not a word to anyone even Scott. Their only concern would be that he was building a possible tolerance to the herb but Stiles knows that isn’t true. Nogi’s power is still safely under lock and key; this - opening up of his sense is different. If he is going to get anywhere with his discovery of new abilities he is not going to be like Scott struggling to do it on his own, Stiles knows the one werewolf who will teach him.

\--

Peter notices the change in Stiles’ scent the instant he opens the door at the boy’s three sharp knocks.

“So you stopped taking it.” He says, though he bars the threshold with his body. He may not smell the herb but Stiles himself needs to come to terms with what he was choosing to do with this. Peter wants no blame put at his feet for what Stiles is asking for. 

“Just for today. I’m starting to get my abilities.” Stiles states, concise in a way he normally is not. 

“Not a late bloomer after all.” Peter smiles when Stiles rolls his eyes with a shake of the head as he is allowed to come in “We’ll work on your senses and the Nogitsune’s power. It would be a waste to have all that potential stay dormant.” Stiles chews the insides of his cheeks giving him a slight fish face look. No matter how powerful the boy gets he is still himself at the core. If only he would realize that.

“I told Scott and everyone I wouldn’t use its power. I’d need an anchor.” He is close to taking the leap of faith, Peter knows. He just needs reassurance that someone will catch him,

“You won’t be using its power per se, just...experimenting.” Immediately Stiles’ eyes twinkle, his mouth stretching into that knowing smirk that suits him so well. It’s been too long since he has seen that on those lips. 

“And you’re willing to be my anchor?” Peter nods, there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t be for this boy. “Okay so what kind of ‘experimenting’-” He makes air quotes around this and Peter is failing at not smiling at what Stiles is implying, “- are we going to do?”

At once, he shakes his head, “Oh no, Stiles not we, _you_ will be experimenting. I know my powers, it’s time to see just what Nogi gave you.” A blink of surprise from Stiles at Peter’s use of the nickname before he’s nodding. He must have let that slip without realizing and Peter had picked it up. 

“So what am I doing?” Peter can feel his shark grin rising to his face at the question. Ideally first and foremost would be getting Stiles to lower his dose of letharia vulpina, but at this stage that is likely as getting him to stop injecting all at once. So instead he has Stiles focus on what power he can grasp through the poison. It takes him almost two weeks before he can hold onto a shred of it.

They are wrestling when Stiles manages to shove Peter off of him with enough force to knock the breath out from the werewolf. By the time Peter has sat up, gingerly pressing on healing bruises on his chest, Stiles’ expression has changed from shocked to excited.

“I felt Nogi’s strength! I felt powerful again.” He almost whispers the last part to himself as he flexes his hands, savoring the sensation before he helps Peter up from the floor. This is what Peter himself was hoping for. If Stiles is able to access his physical strength he doesn’t doubt that soon to follow will be smell and hearing.

“Good, I was getting tired of no challenge.” The comment earns him a scoff.

“If you think you can take me now, old man.” Unsurprisingly Peter still overpowers Stiles leaving the boy slightly grumpy at his less impressive feats of strength by the end their lesson. What Peter does not tell him is that even with his werewolf strength Stiles put up a good fight. Soon enough he knows Stiles will want to test his abilities without the poison. Peter is more than ready to wait for him to make the right decision.

\--

“Stiles,” A hand around the boy’s throat to keep Stiles’ fangs away from Peter’s own throat even as he pulls the boy close enough to touch foreheads. “Remember the training - don’t lose yourself to this.” A gurgling growl issues from Stiles’ throat as his claws sink into Peter’s sides; he grunts but does not let go.

“ _Stiles, focus._ ” The claws rip upwards through his skin and now it is Peter who snarls, hand tightening around his throat, Stiles’ eyes flaring grey (they have not changed from their chestnut brown before) and his claws shredding both of Peter’s hands that are now cutting off his air before the boy sags in his grasp, unconscious. This does not bode well.

Sure enough when Stiles wakes up on Peter’s couch he is flailing (human) limbs and tumbles onto the floor the moment his eyes open. Peter watches him from the kitchen doorway, two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands as Stiles curses, rubs his forehead and sits up. It isn’t until Stiles looks over that he enters and sits down on the now vacated leather couch, offering him one of the mugs.

“I lost control.” Stiles states, nut brown eyes trained on him as he slips upwards onto the couch. A nod makes Stiles swear again and _what a mouth_ , Peter isn’t sure he has ever heard the boy curse this much. All of a sudden he puts his mug down and begins to pace, raking his fingers through his hair.

“No, I can’t do it anymore, Peter. I can’t lose myself like that again, I tried to _kill_ you, jesus christ.” His heart rate is ramming up, his movements tight. Peter moves to stand in Stiles’ pacing track, placing both hands on his shoulders when Stiles’ gaze comes back to him.

“You need to sit down first Stiles, second you need to drink your hot chocolate. You trusted me did you not? And did I once lead you astray or was in general wrong about anything?” Stiles shakes his head though he still opens his mouth to argue, which Peter cuts off with a raised hand.

“Did I lie to you about these sessions?” Stiles wears an expression like his teeth are being pulled out before giving an imperceptible shake of the head. “No, and you didn’t have a problem until now. You lost control, the fox in you took over because I was trespassing on your territory, you were defending it. Clearly I haven’t gained your fox’s trust and we’re going to change that. You will scent mark me and I’m going to return the favor.” Stiles widens his eyes.

“But - but doesn’t scent marking mean I’m yours?” How precious, he looks so confused. A chuckle escapes before Peter can catch it.

“Yes and that’s what your fox needs. Foxes are solitary creatures, but you were not born as one. You’ve been touch starved for a reason Stiles.” The lost look returns to his face, crinkling his brow. “You don’t see it? Have you never questioned why I _offered_ the bite to you?” The gears are clicking away in Stiles’ brain. “Now think, I didn’t offer Scott that.” He watches the realization flicker and catch in those eyes widening as well as his mouth.

“You saw me as an equal.” The shark grin creeps over his mouth. So close to the truth.

“Tell me, would Scott let you cuddle with him?” A flushed indignant look spreads over Stiles’ face as he sputters, “That was being touch starved! You said it about yourself too!”

“Yes Stiles, but I could easily pay someone to touch me, much as the idea is repulsive, than put the effort and time to gain your trust. Do you really think I’d let just anyone lay with me?” Stiles swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, eyes never leaving Peter’s.

“You want me as a mate?” Peter nods. “Can I kiss you first?” he asks, almost hesitantly. He ends up in Peter’s lap. It surprises Stiles how gently the werewolf kisses him, hands carefully kept to the safe territory of his waist over his clothes. “What, scared I’ll bite?” Stiles teases making Peter smile against his mouth as he kisses him to be quiet. 

“No, that you might lose control.” He smirks against Stiles’ throat, starting to suck a hickey into the sensitive skin and Stiles shivers at the sensation, arching into Peter’s touch. He _will_ bite Peter just for that but...not until afterwards.

**Author's Note:**

> Jen amazing person that she is graciously edited this fic for me the week of needing to turn it in. Thank you so much <3 I couldn't have gotten this ready without you!  
> Her ao3 is jennuine :D
> 
> I have to admit my favorite scene to write was Stiles getting the lightning flower on his chest.


End file.
